Buzzer
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: The first thunderstorm after Wilson moves in with Amber, and she needs a little help handling her frightened boyfriend.


I yawned, wandering into the bathroom, glancing upward as the lights flickered repeatedly.

The stupid power company just did not know how to keep the lines fastened right... it wasn't even that much of a storm outside.

The door was shut, but the only other person here was Wilson, and by this point, we'd basically seen everything there was too see.

I knocked, but there was no answer.

Wilson must have shut it after he left–some reflex one of his pathetically needy wives had probably drilled into him with whining and cold dinners.

He really was much better off with me. He was too nice, he couldn't bring himself to stand up to anyone who he thought it might hurt.

I glanced out into the livingroom, but he wasn't there, and that made me a little curious. I had just come from the bedroom, and I couldn't hear any sounds of him cooking from the kitchen.

I shrugged to myself, calling his name and asking if he was ok in there.

There was no response.

Maybe he had fallen asleep in the tub, he had looked awfully tired when he got home.

I put my hand on the doorknob, calling out one last time, and telling him I was coming in.

The lights flickered once as I waited, and as they came back on, I pushed the door open.

They flickered again, and for a moment, I couldn't see anything in the small room, except a dim shape in a corner.

The typical instinctive jolt of panic ran through my chest, but I ignored it as always. It was a bathroom with Wilson in it, not some creepy cave with a bear.

The lights didn't go back on, and I sighed, stepping into the room, the soft bathmat tickling my bare feet.

"Wilson?" I asked, seeing the shape in the corner move a little.

I started, as I heard a little sound, that I might almost have called a sob.

"Wilson, are you ok? Did you slip or something?" I asked, walking in and kneeling down by the shape. I could see it was Wilson, the dim light from the window in the other room reflecting off his familiar large brown eyes.

"Wilson?" I asked again, gently reaching out, placing my hand on the side of his face.

He jerked away from me, actually whimpering with fright.

I stared at him for a moment, surprised, and a little unsure how to act.

I had never been afraid of much, not the cowering-in-bathrooms kind of fear, anyway, so I didn't really know what he was feeling, and empathy is not one of my strong suits to begin with.

I sighed, trying again to touch him, possibly calm him.

He jerked again, this time knocking his head on the tiled wall, and letting out a small cry at the pain.

Why hadn't he told me he was scared of storms? Did he think I would laugh at him? Maybe House would, but as much like him as I am, I wouldn't laugh at someone's serious fears, especially Wilson's.

"Wilson? James? Wilson, are you ok?" I asked again, softly, trying to make my annoyingly tall self as small and unthreatening as possible.

If he had told me, I would have been with him when this started, and he would actually recognize me. As it was...

I sighed, gently touching his hand, in the hopes that touching a less vital part might provoke less panic.

He lashed out at my hand, pushed past me, and hurried out of the bathroom.

I blinked up at the dark ceiling–he had knocked me over when he passed–and resigned myself to calling House and asking if he had some idea of how to deal with this. They had been friends for a while, and I couldn't see House just letting Wilson sit and be terrified, even if he thought it was funny and stupid. He wasn't that mean.

I wandered around, looking for where Wilson had got to, and had just located a soft whimpering sound coming from behind the couch, when the doorbell rang.

Great timing. I ignored it.

It rang again.

And again.

And then it started buzzing to the rhythm of "we will rock you".

I have to confess, I was rather put off by that, since I didn't have really any friends, those few people I occasionally did things with didn't stop by my apartment, and the pizza delivery guy was tone deaf.

I got up, padding quietly to the door, and looking out through the small peephole.

House?

I unlocked the door, opening it.

"You been to the bathroom recently?" he asked bluntly.

I stared at him for a long moment. House had actually come by my apartment to help his friend?

Granted, I was grateful that he had come, but still shocked.

"Ok, no, I'm not being an ass. Right now, anyway. Just check your bathroom, ok?" he asked, looking really uncomfortable.

"He's behind the couch. I think I scared him out of the bathroom."

House sighed, apparently relieved that I knew what he was talking about.

"Is he... uh... does he seem to know who you are?" he asked, still awkward.

"Not at all." was my plain reply. If House wanted to help, and actually could, I wasn't going to make this any harder than it already was. Neither of us needed any sort of connection, we just wanted to calm Wilson down.

"Oh. Um..." for someone as confidant–arrogant, as he was, House seemed awful timid about letting me see him caring about his friend.

"Will you just go calm him down already?" I asked, more interested in getting Wilson calm than figuring out why House was so uncomfortable.

He looked relived, and limped in past me, crouching stiffly down by the couch I indicated, calling out to Wilson, but using his first name, which surprised me, "James? James, come out from there, ok? It's just a storm. Just a little storm, it'll blow over soon, ok? James? James, come-on, get out of there. James, you don't want me to tell David on you, right? So come one out of there before I tell."

I blinked at him, as he gently guided Wilson's trembling form out from between the couch and the wall, then onto the actual surface of the same couch.

Who was David?

House had dropped his cane, in favor of using both hands to hold Wilson steady as he coaxed my friend onto the couch.

"Amber, come here." he said, looking at me briefly, Wilson curled into a ball, holding House's shirt like a child.

"James, here, you remember Sarah, right?" asked House, as I sat down next to Wilson, so he was curled, still shaking and crying, between us.

"Who's Sarah?" I mouthed, as Wilson looked at me with puffy and wet eyes, obviously thinking I was someone else.

"His girlfriend. From first grade." was what House mouthed back at me, still holding Wilson around the shoulders.

Inwardly, I wondered exactly how House knew Wilson's first grade girlfriend's name, and why it was useful, but I pushed past the issue, smiling at Wilson and scooting close to him.

He sobbed, and reached out, trying to pull me closer.

I obliged, and he ended up curled against House and with me sitting close and leaning over him. He was still crying, but seeming a little less scared.

"How long?" I mouthed to House, as Wilson hid his face in House's shirt against the lighting flashing through the room.

House shrugged at me, seeming relived about something.

"Until the storm ends."

I blinked, surprised, and resigned myself to a night spent calming my boyfriend, who thought I was someone else.

After a while, maybe two hours, Wilson finally cried himself to sleep.

I sighed, relived, and started to pull away, but House's hand kept mine from leaving Wilson's.

"Don't. He'll wake up and get even more scared, believe me." he whispered, watching Wilson's face for any sign that he had noticed my small movements. Wilson didn't stir, and I nodded.

The next morning, I yawned and blinked, wondering why I felt so stiff.

Then I noticed a fancy sneaker right next to my face, and wrinkled my nose, pulling away and sitting up so I could see where the heck I was.

It took me a moment, sleepy as I was, to figure out why House was snoring on my couch, with Wilson lying on top of him, eyes puffy and cheeks tearstained.

As I moved, House opened his eyes, rolled them at me as though I were about to say something–which I wasn't–and shook Wilson's shoulder.

I watched as Wilson grunted, mumbling something about it being Saturday–it was Tuesday–and how he didn't have to get up yet.

House looked at me tiredly, apparently not enjoying the effort of trying to wake his friend, and I leaned over Wilson, whispering to him and shaking his shoulder.

He blinked at me, eyes confused but lucid.

"Amber? What happened?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"There was a thunderstorm." muttered House dryly, pushing at Wilson's shoulder with one hand.

Wilson jumped at the unexpected voice.

"House? What are you doing here?" he asked, and I smiled.

"You didn't recognize me."

Wilson looked back at me, then grimaced.

"I'm sorry. I should have told you, I know... I just..."

"That's ok." I said, still smiling.

"Get your ass off my leg!" snapped House, losing his patience and giving Wilson's shoulder a hard shove.

Wilson toppled forward onto me, startled by the push.

"Sorry House." he said, looking back at his friend.

House just lifted his right leg with both hands, turning himself so that he could lower it to the floor without bumping anything.

"Who's David?" I asked, trying to distract Wilson from his upset guilt, as he watched House grimace and massage his bad leg.

"My oldest brother. But how... oh. House, you did not pretend to be–"

"No, I didn't." said House shortly, cutting Wilson off.

I blinked at them, utterly confused.

Wilson sighed, seeing my expression.

"We didn't get along that well. But anyway, I'm sorry."

I shook my head.

"That's ok." I said, hoping to short-circuit his apologetic spiel.

House snorted.

Wilson glanced at him, then looked back at me.

"Really, I should have told you. I–"

"Wilson. It's fine." I said, interrupting him firmly.

He blinked for a moment, then nodded, relieved.

House finally managed to get to his feet, and I got his cane from where it had dropped behind the sofa.

"Here. And thanks." I said, handing it to him.

House shrugged, limping more heavily than usual towards the front door.

"Really. Thanks House." said Wilson, catching him by the elbow.

House rolled his eyes.

"It was better than letting her try for an hour and get you more worked up, then call me."

I saw Wilson smile and nod, opening the door for his friend.

House left, and Wilson turned back to me.

"I really am sorry." he said, starting towards the kitchen.

"And I really am fine with it, so stop apologizing." I replied, standing up and following him into the kitchen. I love watching him cook.

He turned around, looking at me.

I smiled.

"You've been around House way too long. Really, I'm fine with it. You can't help it, it's not your fault, and as long as I don't have to call House every time it happens, I can deal with it. So can we get to the cooking part now?"

Wilson smiled.

"Yes. Yes we can."


End file.
